Interrupted Magic: A Hillendale Novel, #4

By Karla Brandenburg

A stranger comes to Brynn Taylor looking to overcome a streak of bad luck, but when Brynn agrees to help, the hex transfers from the stranger to Brynn's fiancé, Kyle Jakes. Four months ago, Kyle was laid off from the Hillendale Police Department. He's postponed the wedding, taken a "filler" job out of town, and has grown sullen and irritable. While their relationship has eroded, Brynn vows to redirect the hex to its rightful owner. Her business is suffering, and once the town gossips get hold of the information she and Kyle—the town's golden boy—have broken up, she may have to close her doors permanently. After a steamy encounter with a man at a grocery store, her gift for alchemy has gone on the fritz. Either the spell that transferred to Kyle stripped her of her talents or the man from the grocery store is responsible for her interrupted magic.

They only have two weeks to thwart the terms of the hex, the consequences of which could cost Kyle his future in law enforcement. How is she supposed to reverse the hex when her magic isn't working?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sonderocity
• Release date: Mar 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393989707

Karla Brandenburg

Karla Brandenburg is an award-winning author of contemporary romance novels which include paranormal elements. Now that her children have settled into lives of their own, she loves to go out into the world on adventures with her husband, from Milwaukee to the French Riviera, but the Chicago suburbs have always been "home." She is an avid reader across multiple genres and is a card-carrying cookie-holic (we all have our vices).

Book preview

Chapter 2

Icarried the basket of roses into the sunroom that served as my workshop. In the corner, the still bubbled quietly while it processed lavender essential oil.

None of the grimoires that served as recipe books lay on the table. Odd, considering Daria had come to the house. The books had lives of their own, frequently predicting which mixtures people would ask me for. I checked the cupboard in the corner where the books were kept—firmly shut.

I carried the roses to the sink, snipped the stems under cold water and put them in vases to stay fresh until I was ready to work with them. I had herbs yet to harvest. One of the recipe books would undoubtedly be waiting for me upon my return.

I came in half an hour later with bowls of sage and rosemary. No books on the table.

Come on, I said to the charged air around me. Nothing?

Ash, my gray cat, announced her arrival with a loud meow.

A recipe book flew from the cupboard and opened to a tincture for an upset stomach—not an answer to Daria’s problem. Then again, maybe I’d resolved Daria’s issue. I hadn’t needed magic to fix my life. Time, and love from my Aunt Nora had brought me to where I was. Kyle Jakes, my fiancé, had played a role, too, but he’d run into his own string of bad luck over the past few months.

The Hillendale police force had made budget cuts, and as the low man on the totem pole, Kyle had been laid off. One of the benefits to living in a small town, however, meant the community banded together in times of crisis, and within a week, Jude Everly, Rhoda Christenson’s brother, had offered Kyle and his friend Chip a job renovating rental cabins in Door County. The downside was that Kyle spent the week up north working and was only home on the weekends. As a result, he’d insisted on postponing our wedding.

I checked the clock on the wall. Plenty of time to work before Kyle arrived home. This weekend marked the anniversary of our first official date, and I’d bought steak and shrimp to celebrate, hoping to dispel the black cloud that had descended on him since losing his police job.

I settled onto the stool behind my worktable and Ash jumped to my lap. She made herself comfortable and purred while I mixed the recipe I would sell at the boutique tomorrow. Once the product was bottled, my thoughts returned to Daria and her yellow-gray aura. Fear, but why did she look shrouded in smoke?

I closed my eyes and silently summoned the grimoire hidden in the wall of my utility room, the one with the intentional spells. The fragile book landed on the worktable and brittle pages flipped. They stopped on a page I’d read before, one that discussed how to read auras. I had a copy of the page on my phone from when I was learning to interpret what the different colors meant, but there was no mention of a smoky aura. Prepared to abandon my concerns for Daria, I held a hand over the book to close it until my attention was drawn to the opposite page. 

Accident prone behavior accompanied by a hazy, or smoky, aura might indicate a spell hovering around that person.

What did I know about Daria? I couldn’t be sure what kind of person she was, or if there was a reason for the spell that hung around her—if it was a spell.

I picked up my cat, stroking her as I carried her into the small living room of my house and settled her on the afghan draped over the leather sofa. She pranced, purring loudly before she settled. The tea service was still on my dining table beside the bay window overlooking the backyard. I carried the tray into the galley kitchen.

The used herbs from the steeping ball would go out to the compost pile, but before I dumped the sediment from the cup, odd swirls drew my attention. Was this akin to reading tea leaves? The Wiccan women I knew said we didn’t have the gift of divination, and yet something was going on at the bottom of Daria’s cup. Letters appeared, as if someone drew a finger through the dregs—M. S. The letters disappeared like erased chalk, and within minutes, they were drawn again.

I returned to the workroom to consult the grimoire, but as was its habit, it had returned to the cache in the wall. I walked through the kitchen to the utility room by the back door, squeezed between the washer and dryer and felt along the brick wall beside the old coal chute. I tugged the edges of a jutting brick and the small compartment opened. The hidden grimoire levitated and floated to the top of the washing machine.

What about the tea leaves? I asked it.

The pages flipped on their own and stopped on an incantation marked with a skull and crossbones. I hated those pages, well aware of the dangers of intentionally casting a spell.

To correct a wrong done to you, find a picture of the person responsible and affix a lock of their hair. Dip your finger in a mixture of lemon juice and water and recite the incantation with your terms to correct the misdeed while using your finger to draw your initials on the back of the photo. This identifies you as the author of the spell until the terms are satisfied.

Tea leaves weren’t the same as a photo, but I interpreted the explanation as a variation on a theme, that M.S. was the author of the spell on Daria.

Before I could finish reading the page, the back door opened. Startled, I blocked the book from view by holding my arms out to shield it.

Kyle dropped his duffle bag on the floor and shot me a wary glance. Everything okay?

Odd greeting. As far as I know. Why do you ask?

Edith Knight said you had a visitor. Someone she hadn’t seen before.

I hadn’t seen my neighbor outside while Daria was there, but this was a small town. Neighbors had a habit of looking out for one another, which was a good thing—sometimes. Someone looking for help. Cassandra sent her over from the boutique.

Did you have what she needed?

I looked over my shoulder. The grimoire was gone and the brick that covered the secret compartment was firmly in place. Kyle was privy to my hidden talents, but I continued to be uncomfortable talking to him about them. I made her a cup of tea and she went on her way. How are the renovations coming along?

His lips twisted in an increasingly familiar expression of frustration. Lots of mold to clean up, along with rotting wood.

I suppose that’s to be expected so close to the lakefront.

Jude would have done better to tear the cottages down and start over. Kyle strode into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. His dark brown hair was in need of a cut, the natural wave turning into curls. When he’d been a policeman, he’d always kept his hair trimmed neatly—not that I was complaining. The casual look enhanced his boyish good looks.

With a can of Pepsi in his hand, he closed the fridge, popped the top, and continued to the dining room to sit at the table. I followed, interpreting his mood as distracted. He stared out the bay window.

Want to talk about it? I asked.

Hmm? His slate-blue gaze landed on me as he took a sip of his pop. Oh, I guess I was thinking of all the things that still have to be done across the street before I sell my house. I have no idea when I’m going to have time for that.

I suspected he wasn’t in a hurry to sell. He’d been moody for the past four months, since he’d been laid off from the police force. After pressing me to set a wedding date, he’d been the one to postpone, regardless of my thoughts on the matter. We hadn’t spent a night together since, with Kyle withdrawing into his own personal funk. No amount of reassurance from me that we could weather this storm together resonated with him. The attempts I made to draw him out of his moods generally resulted in an argument. I sat silently, struggling with the patience to see which direction his mood was headed.

He sighed. This isn’t the life I’d pictured for us.

Because you’re doing carpentry instead of policework? You know it doesn’t matter to me. I thought you liked working with your hands.

As a side job or a hobby, yeah. I worry about you living here all alone while I’m two and a half hours away all week. What if something happens to you?

His protective streak rearing its ugly head again. Well, there’s always Edith Knight next door keeping an eye on me. And Roxanne Purdy is still on the police force. What do you think is going to happen to me here? Hillendale wasn’t a hotbed of crime.

You’ve had your share of trouble, haven’t you? You never know who’s going to stop in at the boutique and now I have to worry about people knocking on your door.

I sucked my lower lip between my teeth to keep from engaging, not in the mood for an argument. Yes, I’d run across bad people at the shop after I’d bought it from Nora, but those experiences had made me stronger. I refused to live my life anticipating trouble. I had appreciated times when Kyle had my back, but I didn’t need him standing guard over me twenty-four-seven.

The world can be an ugly place, he went on. Trust me. I’ve seen things in my line of work. He stopped, apparently remembering he was no longer an officer.

His patronizing tone sent ripples of annoyance over my skin. Time to change the subject. Well, you’re home for the weekend now, and working on your house is a few steps across the street. It isn’t like you’re miles away.

Like when I’m gone all week. Is that what you’re saying?

He was spoiling for a fight, but I wasn’t going to give it to him. I held hopes that our anniversary might shake off some of his gloom. Why don’t you unpack and take a shower. I’ll make you a nice dinner, or if you’d rather, we can go out. What do you think?

We need to save our money until I’m gainfully employed again. He took a long slug from his can of Pepsi and shot me a glare.

Then I’ll fix what’s in the fridge, I said evenly.

They say relationships are give and take, and I’d had my share of insecurities where Kyle was concerned. I’d forgiven him for cheating on me, accepted his help when I didn’t need it. Now that he needed help, he was shutting me out. As much as I reassured him his occupation didn’t matter, it mattered to him.

He picked up the rest of his Pepsi and downed it. Is there any soap other than that smelly stuff you put in my shower?

The lavender soap I’d left in his shower was meant to soothe him. So much for improving his mood. He fought me at every turn. Your body wash is on the shelf over the toilet.

He nodded, retrieved his duffle, and stomped out. I retreated to my workroom, where a grimoire lay open on the table. Prepared to mix a special order, I approached, but was surprised instead to find instructions for how to break a spell. Daria’s?

Have the subject collect one of each of the following:

Three mistletoe leaves

One stem from a castor bean plant (red)

One nightshade vegetable

Mix the ingredients with water to make a stew and have the subject partake two ounces of the broth, after which they must state the desire for absolution from the spell caster. If their heart is true, the spell may be relieved. Illness will follow as the spell is cleansed from the subject. In the absence of intervention, the spell will be resolved when its purpose has been accomplished.

I had no doubt the concoction would cause illness, although after earning my degree in ethnobotany, I knew the ingredients were the least lethal parts of the plants.

As if on cue, someone knocked on my workshop door.

Daria was back.

Chapter 3

Tears streamed down Daria’s face. I was driving home when a deer ran across the road. The rental car I got from the insurance company is totaled.

I sat at the patio table across from Daria.

She blew her nose. I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know where else to go. I was feeling so much better after we talked.

I’m going to ask you some strange questions, I began. Starting with do you know anyone who’s initials are M.S.?

My college roommate. Madeleine Stephens.

Is there any reason Madeleine might be angry with you about something? I asked.

Her expression became guarded. Yeah. We don’t talk anymore.

I studied Daria, waiting for her to expound on her statement. She worried the tissue in her hands, staring at it instead of speaking. With nothing to lose, I pressed her about Madeleine’s potential eccentricities. You asked me when we met if I was a witch. Did you think Madeleine was a witch, too?

Daria snorted. I should apologize to you for that. Compared to her, you seem so normal.

Which didn’t answer my question. Tell me about her. The more information I have, the better I can help you.

Daria rolled her eyes. Not one of my prouder moments, especially after I found out what really happened.

I waited. The book had shown me what to do, but performing magic intentionally brought unintended consequences, and I’d had plenty of experience with bad outcomes.

Anyone might have done the same thing, she went on.

Why don’t you start at the beginning. What happened?

It was a case of wrong place, wrong time. Her little brother was walking home from work when he saw two guys on a street corner. He said one of the guys pulled out a gun and started shooting. Madeleine’s brother took off running, and when he passed a gas station, he stole a car to get as far away as he could, to Madeleine’s apartment in Milwaukee. I was outside at the time and saw him get out of the car. When the police showed up five minutes later, they asked me if I’d seen the driver. I told them it was Perry, Madeleine’s brother. Daria shook her head. By the time Madeleine came out to tell me what was going on, it was too late. I’d already put her brother behind the wheel. She said they’d called the police to tell them what happened, but the police didn’t seem to care. He’d stolen the car, after all. They carted him off to jail. Long story short, in addition to the car theft, they pinned the drug deal he’d stumbled across onto him.

That explained why Madeleine was angry with Daria.

It’s not your fault. I patted Daria’s shoulder. If he was a victim of circumstance, like you say, a good lawyer should have been able to get leniency for him. Now for the tricky part. Do you think she could be responsible for your spell of bad luck?

Daria’s gaze darted around the yard, at the woods behind the house. She was scary sometimes.

Scary, how?

She has a thing for pentagrams. Daria pointed at my chimney. I wasn’t sure if your—what did you call it? A triquetra?—was the same sort of thing.

Time to take the next step. If she is a witch, there’s a possibility she put a spell on you. The bad luck is more a side effect, the spell running its course. I paused, waiting to see how she reacted to what I’d said.

This has been going on for six months, she wailed. I don’t know how much more I can take. Can’t you do something?

I nodded. This was what the grimoire had prepared me for. I’m going to give you a list of things. I need you to find them and bring them to me. Then we’ll see what we can do about breaking the spell. I wrote down the ingredients and handed the piece of paper to her.

Daria gasped. Nightshade? You mean like deadly nightshade?

I laughed. Nightshade vegetables. Like a tomato or an eggplant or a pepper. That should be the easiest of the ingredients to find.

Where am I supposed to find mistletoe in August? And a castor bean plant? I don’t even know what that is.

I glanced at the garden, where Nora had grown castor beans a few years ago. The plants had died after the damage from the fire and I hadn’t restarted new ones. I doubt it will be as hard as you think.

She crumpled the piece of paper and stuffed it into her purse. The very definition of FML.

Her slang for how bad her life had become didn’t sit well with me when I was trying to help her. It’s the best I can offer. You’re free to find help elsewhere.

Daria heaved a sigh. I lived with Madeleine. I’ve seen the things she can do. She squinted at me. You’re not like her. Why not?

I don’t know anything about your friend, but I prefer to use the things I’ve learned to help people. Even if I didn’t, I’m a firm believer in karma. Harm sent forth returns threefold. Madeleine’s spell, assuming that’s what was causing Daria’s sudden run of bad luck, seemed more punitive than harmful. The grimoire had provided me with the antidote—if Daria returned with the ingredients. Considering her attitude, I figured I’d better make sure she knew I wouldn’t remove the spell gratis. I will expect payment when you come back.

I’m unemployed. Whatever you charge, I can’t afford to pay you.

I’m willing to barter my services. What can you offer?

She pursed her lips. The only thing I have right now are the dreamcatchers I sell at craft fairs. Would that work?

Nora and I had sold dreamcatchers on consignment when Windfall had been a gift shop, and I’d seen them at the Lithia Fairs I’d been to over the past year. The value should be commensurate. I nodded. She gave me one more pointed look and nearly walked into Kyle as she left.

Who was that? Kyle asked.

Someone looking for help.

He leaned toward me, his expression tight. For the record, I don’t like random people showing up.

I recognized his mood for what it was and opted not to point out this wasn’t his house.

For now.

Chapter 4

Kyle grilled the steak and shrimp for dinner while I put together a salad. When he brought the food inside, I poured him a beer and we settled at the table to eat.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "This is so much better than pizza or